


Lost Time

by Silver_Djarin



Category: 15th Century CE RPF, Original Work
Genre: Also I love long tags apparently lol, Eventual Romance, Kinda inspired by a certain fandom, Lots of romantic hints dropped throughout the story, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Apocalypse, Romance, Science Fiction, So there will be lots of references to it, because I can't write a fic that starts out with JUST friendship and then romance later, more characters tba - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-15 08:29:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28810398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silver_Djarin/pseuds/Silver_Djarin
Summary: In a future thousands of years after our own, Salvestro da Aventine becomes the Custode- an important individual tasked with escorting The Architect to the Lost Regions in order to stop the catastrophes that will come with the Alignment. However, things are not always what they seem, and the prophecy is no exception. ~~ Also on Quotev!
Relationships: Leonardo da Vinci/Tommaso Masini (Past Relationship), Salvestro da Aventine/Leonardo da Vinci
Kudos: 2





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> The point of this story? Ummm... I'll never tell. :)

_The Mountain Pass…_

Jagged peaks jut upwards, piercing the misty clouds in the sky like the sharpest of spears. Fallen rocks and patches of long grass as well as the occasional bush and tree decorate the expanse of mountains, and if one looks high enough, they can see splotches of white snow staining the peaks of those mountains.

It’s peaceful here. Which makes it the perfect place to do some hunting. And that is exactly what Salvestro is doing right now, as he crouches low in the grass, his bow in one hand, and an arrow nocked to its string with the other hand.

The birds are chirping softly, sharing their works of musical art-

“Salvestro!”

Salvestro sighs tiredly, pushing his dark bangs out of his face as he pushes himself onto his feet, the upper half of his body rising up out of the long grass he’s been hiding in. he watches as the chamois he had been stalking for half an hour now scampers off, hooves thudding loud against the dirt as it gallops higher and higher up the mountain, no doubt having been startled by the cry of Salvestro’s uninvited guest.

The hunter slides his bow over his shoulders and sheathes his arrow, sliding the thin shaft of wood into his quiver, before turning to glare at the culprit pointedly.

It’s none other than Mea, one of the lower ranking members of the High Council of the Aventine Tribe. It’s a well-known fact that she desired Salvestro’s hand, and would do just about anything to win it. The feeling is not mutual, and despite the urging of his parents to take her as his mate, Salvestro is simply _not interested_. What’s so hard to understand about that?? It’s not as if his parents didn’t have any other children they can pressure into getting married and having children with. Nonetheless, the hunter braces himself for the pleading and begging that was sure to come, absent-mindedly tightening the straps holding together the metal-plated leather armour covering his shoulders and arms. The undyed hides of his clothing underneath wrinkle slightly with the movement of his armour.

Surprisingly, however, it seems that Mea is not here to try to convince him to take her as his mate.

“The Elders of the High Council wants to speak with you,” Mea tells him, crossing her arms and glaring right back at him, “about the Alignment.”

Salvestro stops playing with his armour. “Do you think…?”

“Possibly,” she answers. “The role of the _Custode_ is a very important one. I would not be surprised if they’re considering you for the position.”

“‘Very important’ doesn’t even begin to describe it,” Salvestro replies rather dryly. “This _is_ the fate of the world we’re talking about here. If I fail- if _he_ fails-”

“You don’t need to tell me what will happen. We all learned from our _insegnante…”_

Salvestro’s eyes flick upwards towards the sky, and he sees the sun is still a good ways away from the edge of the horizon- he should be able to make it back to Aventine before dark. “Thank you, Mea. I will return to the village and speak to the Elders immediately.” He gives her a small a nod, and ignores the somewhat offended look on her face. He knows that she had expected more, despite all the years that he’d proved to her time and again that he just isn’t interested.

As he turns away and starts treading down the rolling incline of the mountain, the sounds of the birds and the rustling of hides and grass soaking into his ears once more, Salvestro briefly considers trying to set Mea up with one of his brothers instead.

~~~~

The Tower of the High Council is the tallest building in Aventine- primarily because it once belonged to the Precursors. As Salvestro stands in the middle of the stone courtyard, next to the empty fountain, his arms crossed over his chest, his eyes trail up the building slowly, drinking in every inch of it. He remembers the stories his grandfather would tell him before he passed away, the stories that had been passed down through his family, and every other family throughout the generations. About how Aventine used to be a wasteland when their ancestors first settled here, littered with nothing but damaged and sometimes decimated relics of the past. But, with each generation that came and went, Aventine was rebuilt. Many buildings were repaired over the centuries, including the Tower of the High Council. And where there were buildings that had no hope of restoration? Those were torn down, and new ones were erected in their places.

Salvestro sighs, letting his gaze rest on the shiny metal spire jutting from the top of the tower for a moment longer before tearing his eyes away and focusing them on the tower entrance. He approaches the double-wooden doors and pulls one open, its iron handle thoroughly chilling his fingers and palm. He steps inside, letting the door fall shut behind him with a light _bang_ as the top part of it collides with the doorframe.

The small _atrio_ surrounding him is lit up by large lanterns bolted to the shiny marble walls, washing the room in a soft orange glow that seems to fluctuate with each dance of the flames. Salvestro makes his way down to the other side of the room, boots _clacking_ against the floor (also marble), and approaches the wooden desk currently being occupied by an elderly man- who doesn’t seem to notice the hunter’s presence, as he (the old man, that is) is too busy looking over the many open scrolls strewn about the table in front of him.

Salvestro clears his throat awkwardly, drawing the other man’s attention to him.

“Oh! My sincerest apologies, young sir,” the old man greets, whipping his head up to look at the hunter in question. “I did not hear you come in. What can I do you for you this fine day?”

“It’s alright,” Salvestro tells him in attempt to reassure him. “The Elders wanted to speak to me?”

“Hmm? Oh- yes! You must be Salvestro di ser Ludovico da Aventine.”

Salvestro’s eyebrow quirks upward at the usage of his full name. “Just Salvestro will do,” the hunter says- he really doesn’t want to be hearing his mouthful of a name more than _once_ today.

“Very well.” The elderly man doesn’t seem very fazed. “The Elders are waiting for you in the High Council Room. I presume you know where to go?”

“Seventh floor, down the hall all the way till the end, and then make a left. Am I correct?” Salvestro smiles when the man gives him an affirmative nod. “Many thanks, friend.” The hunter bends over, giving a small bow. The old man stands up from his chair, the wood creaking as he rises, and returns the gesture.

~~~~

Salvestro knocks on one of the currently closed giant double doors that leads into the High Council Room. A voice calls from inside, “Enter.” And so he does, fingers wrapping around the cool metal handle and turning it. He pushes the door open, using his whole body to do so since the thing is so damn _heavy_ , and steps inside. He carefully closes it behind him before turning back round to face the Elders.

All six of them sit side by side at a rectangularly-shaped marble table. Two of them are quite old, well past middle age, while the others are younger by a few decades at most. Lit candles set on the table they’re all sitting at, as well as the lanterns hanging from the walls, bathe the room in flickering gold.

“You know why you are here?” the Elder farthest to the right- Caterina da Leze- asks. “Why we have asked you to come?”

“No, but I am guessing that it’s about the role of the _Custode,”_ Salvestro answers carefully, making sure to look her in the eye as he speaks. “Is that correct?”

The Elder to the left of Caterina, Domenico da Avitis, nods. “Yes, it is,” they reply. “We have chosen you to become the _Custode_ \- at sundown, you will meet us at the entrance of the underground catacombs outside Aventine. From there, we will lead you to the Chamber of Souls, where we will begin the ritual.”

“I understand.” Salvestro bows in acknowledgement of this information, and queries when he straightens his stance once more, “And I can assume that, the day after the ritual is complete, The Architect and I will begin our journey to the Lost Regions?”

“Yes, you will.”

“Understood. Is there anything else that I should know?”

Caterina shakes her head. “Not at the moment. We will tell you what else you need to know once we are at the Chamber of Souls. You are dismissed, Salvestro.”

The hunter nods, and then bows one last time, before turning away and heading towards the door. As he reaches for the door handle, his ears catch a small whisper, one that perhaps he wasn’t meant to hear.

**_“Mox, mundus tuum mundabitur._ ** **”**


	2. Risurrezione, Part I

Salvestro doesn’t leave the village of Aventine for the catacombs’ entrance right away- why should he? The Elders said to meet them there at _sundown._ So he still has some time to himself to do whatever he likes.

The hunter takes the hours available to him to wander around the market square- more specifically, in the section where the blacksmiths are selling weapons and armour, as well as tools for farming. Merchants call from all sides for potential customers to come look at their products, most of them stationed in small wooden stalls filled to the brim with products of their making, while a few stand behind the oak tables lining the bottoms of their workshop windows; said workshops are also overflowing with all kinds of items for sale, though unlike the market stalls, it’s more of an organised chaos. 

Surprisingly, in terms of customers, the market is not that crowded today. A few families are strolling along, browsing the stalls and such, but aside from them, Salvestro himself, and a few other people, the place is rather empty. 

Salvestro approaches one of the workshop windows. _“Salute,”_ he greets, offering a small, brief bow- which the merchant returns. When they both have straightened their stance, the hunter goes on, “I’m here to look at some of your wares.”

The merchant snorts. “Really?” he queries sarcastically. “And here I thought you were stopping by to visit me out of the goodness of your heart.”

“Well, if you really are _that_ lonely-”

“Relax, my child. I was only jesting,” the merchant tells him in a gentler tone, a small smile spreading across his lips. “You are free to come in- however, you will have to do so through the window, I’m afraid. I still haven’t gotten around to fixing my door, and at this rate I doubt, I ever will.”

Salvestro barks a laugh and hoists himself up over the table and into the workshop. He chuckles again when the merchant calls to him “Don’t break anything, _per favore!”_ and starts skimming the shelves with his eyes, slowly but steadily taking in each and every item there is. On the left, there’s nothing but farming tools. Salvestro directs his attention away from that section- he’s a hunter, not a farmer. 

After about a minute and a half, his eyes settle on a particularly interesting-looking set of armour in the corner of the shop. He approaches it, his curiosity rising as he drinks in the details. It’s clearly been constructed from materials once used by the Precursors- the shoulder pads’ bases are made of leather, but the plating sewn onto them appears to be made of the rare jade-coloured metal the Aventine people refer to as “Extos.” They are connected by a chain made of the same metal, and a pair of gauntlets also made from leather and Extos plating are set on a stand in front of the shoulder pads. 

“How much for this set of armour?” Salvestro asks, turning his attention towards the merchant, who had just finished speaking to another customer. The merchant looks over at him, and the hunter points to the armour he’s referring to.

The merchant’s features brighten up considerably. “Ahh! See, this was supposed to be a commission for one of the generals of the Guardians’ Guild- but ze cancelled it, since apparently ze supposedly found a merchant who provides ‘better craftmanship.’ Pah! A load of _bullshit_ , if you ask me. Hrrmph, it does not matter. It is _zir_ loss.” He shakes his head quickly, laughing a bit. “But I am getting off-track here. You do not need to pay me anything, just take it. Unlike the general, you clearly have taste.”

Salvestro reaches for his money pouch anyway, and opens it despite the merchant’s protests. He pours some coins into his gloved hand and asks, “Will seventy toxtaz do?”

The merchant sighs, shaking his head again. “Oh, very well. If you insist on paying. I appreciate the sentiment, even if it is unnecessary.” He holds out his hand, and Salvestro carefully drops the coins into the man’s palm. “A pleasure doing business with you, kind sir.”

“It was a pleasure doing business with you as well,” Salvestro replies. “I will recommend you to my fellow hunters at the Lodge when I… when I return.”

The merchant’s surprise shines clear, but nonetheless a smile spreads across his lips again. “Thank you. Safe journeys, friend- where ever you are going.”

~~~~

Now wearing the new armour he’d bought from the blacksmith earlier that day (the armour, since it had been made for someone else, isn’t a perfect fit, but it still rests on his body quite comfortably), Salvestro stops by his family’s home. He really doesn’t want to see his mother or father, or even his older brothers- he knows that they will try to convince him to stay, to refuse to step into the role of the _Custode._ That they will want him to settle down with a mate and have children. 

Just like they’ve _always_ wanted for him.

Salvestro’s lips twist into a grimace. It’s not that he doesn’t respect his family. He does respect them very much, actually. It’s just that he wants to live out his life the way that _he himself_ wants to. He wants to live a life that will actually make him happy. 

But there is one person he wants to see. So, Salvestro completely ignores the front door and instead makes his way around to the back of the house. He scrambles up the wall, his boots scraping against the stone as he quickly swings his arms up high. His fingers latch onto the window sill above, and he pulls himself up just enough so he can rest his arms on it somewhat comfortably. The edge of the window sill digs into his chest, making it a bit difficult to breathe. 

Thankfully, he isn’t going to be staying long. He is glad that the window is open- otherwise, he’d have to knock, and that undoubtedly would draw the attention of his parents. _“Psst!_ Fiora!”

Fiora peers her tiny head out from underneath her bed covers, blinking. “Salvestro?” she whispers, pushing the blankets off of her body completely and sliding off the bed. She tiptoes to the window, rubbing her eyes sleepy eyes and yawning. “Is something wrong?”

Salvestro shakes his head. “No, nothing is wrong. I just came to tell you… I will be going away for a while. And I don’t know when I’ll be back.”

“Where are you going?” Fiora asks, yawning again and stretching her little arms. “To Firen?”

“Farther,” he answers, voice lowering just slightly. 

“Nezia?”

“Even farther than that.” Salvestro doesn’t wait for her to guess a third time, as he adds, “I was chosen to be the _Custode_ of The Architect. Tomorrow, he and I will be leaving for the Lost Regions.” When seeing her crestfallen face, he says, “I know this isn’t exactly something you wanted to hear. I am not going to lie to you- it will be dangerous. I could get hurt. I could even be killed. But… I promise you that I will do everything in my power to find my way back to you.”

“Pinky promise,” Fiora tells him firmly, leaving absolutely no room for a refusal. 

Salvestro lifts his hand, clenching all his fingers except for the one in question. Their pinkies meet, wrapping around each other. “Pinky promise,” he says back, smiling a little now. When their pinkies release one another, the hunter starts to slide off the window sill. His hands scrabble to latch back onto it, but by then he’s already hitting the ground back-first. _“Oww! Cazzo!”_

“‘Cazzo?’” Fiora repeats, curiosity sliding into her voice.

Salvestro is back on his feet a split second later, and he looks up at his younger sister with a sheepish expression. “You don’t want to repeat that word, at least not around our parents,” he replies with a light chuckle, starting to back away from the house. No doubt someone inside heard his nasty fall (and possibly his cussing), and he doesn’t want to stick around to find out. “It’s a _secret_ word.”

Fiora nods, waving at her brother while a big grin spreads across her lips.

The hunter waves back just as enthusiastically, before turning on his heel and sprinting down the cobblestone road winding down the street, ignoring the looks he’s getting from the other pedestrians also congregating it.

~~~~

Salvestro slowly strides up to the entrance of the catacombs. The sun is almost completely behind the mountains now, its golden light just barely seeping through the sharp points of the range. There are few trees growing in the flat expanse of dirt surrounding the catacombs’ entrance, and even less blades of grass. There are also blackened dips in the ground, forgotten remnants of a war long passed. 

Salvestro’s gaze locks onto a particularly deep dip in the dirt several metres ahead of him, and he knows that it’s the entrance to the catacombs. He hastens his approach, and soon enough, as he looks down the incline leading underground, he can see three of the Elders standing in front of a massive metal door. 

“It appears we’re both a little early,” Salvestro quips, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He bows, and then marches down the incline to stand beside the Elders. 

None of them seem particularly amused by his comment, nor do they acknowledge it in the first place. “Caterina, if you would please,” Pierrezzo da Zaro speaks, waving his hand towards the door. The Elder being addressed nods, and she steps up to the door, lifting her hand and pressing several indentations in the metal with her fingers.

“Where are the others?” Salvestro asks in puzzlement, watching Caterina. 

“They stayed behind to deal with some _heretics.”_ Domenico practically spits that last word in their disgust, as if they are speaking of a dead rat they’d found in their own shoe. “In any case, the presence of all six of us is not required to complete the ritual.”

Salvestro doesn’t need to ask Domenico what they mean by “deal with some heretics.” 

The hunter jerks, startled, as the squealing of… _something_ inside the catacomb door tears his attention away from the Elder and the current subject. His hand instantly flies to the dagger on his belt, and Caterina, who turns away from the door and see this, laughs at his reaction. 

“You have nothing to fear,” she tells him, her lips twitching as she tries to hold back her smile (and fails miserably). “It is only the door.”

“Is it supposed to do that?” Salvestro asks, keeping his hand close to his dagger, just in case. He watches in astonishment as the door, rather than swinging to the side like a normal door would, instead slid upwards into the overhang until it is no longer visible.

“My child, if you are like this with the _front door,”_ Pierrezzo says dryly, shaking his head, “I am not looking forward to seeing how you react to everything _else_ inside.”

“Pierrezzo, cut him some slack.” Caterina pats Salvestro’s shoulder gently, seemingly not noticing- or perhaps outright _ignoring-_ the discomfort spreading across the hunter’s face at her very close proximity. “Salvestro has never been here to the catacombs before. Therefore, he has never seen anything like this, and has every reason to be a little on edge.”

As the other two Elders start treading through the door into the dark depths ahead, Caterina follows after them, and Salvestro follows her. He jumps as, before he’s even stepped through the door, a series of strange panels on the ceiling in the catacombs’ entrance light up, washing the narrow hallway ahead in a bright white light. He stares uncomprehendingly at the panels for a moment, before letting his eyes fall onto the rest of the corridor laying before him. Everything was a shiny, silvery metal- the ceiling (minus the panels producing that bright light), the floor, and the walls. Never has he seen so much metal in one spot before.

“Well?” Domenico gives the young hunter an impatient glare. “Are you coming, or not?”

“Err- yes, my apologies.” 

Salvestro hurries after them, stepping into the hall, his boots transitioning from a soft _thudding_ against the dirt from outside to a harsh _clanking_ against the metal floor inside.

~~~~

The hallways running throughout the catacombs were almost exactly the same as one another, the only differences being the placement and numbers of doors in each corridor. The Elders stopped briefly to show Salvestro one of the many rooms where they had laid those who’d passed on to rest. These rooms- assuming that they’re of the same size as the one the Elders had shown him- were massive, with tens of rows of sarcophagi all side by side, with who knows how many in each row. The walls were very far apart, perhaps by forty feet or so, and the distance between the floor and the ceiling three times that. Salvestro unfortunately didn’t have time to count the number of sarcophagi there- the Elders were impatient, wanting to get on with their trek further into the catacombs.

Soon enough, the four of them come upon a massive, circular door at the end of one of the catacombs’ many hallways. “We’re here,” Domenico announces as they approach it. They place their hand on a piece of coloured glass- at least, it looks like coloured glass to Salvestro- and the door rumbles. It rolls away, sliding into a gap in the wall, out of sight and out of mind.

The room ahead is pitch black.

The Elders all move forward into the darkness in unison. Salvestro lingers behind for a moment, his heart pounding in his chest, the nerves in his body suddenly feeling stiff. He forces himself to follow, to take step after step, entering the darkness. The earlier wonders of these catacombs hadn’t prepared him for what lay within the Chamber of Souls. 

The black is gone, having been washed away by streams of bright gold flowing, curling round and round the room with a will of their own. Small yellow squares are sprinkled throughout these strings of light, with what seem to be characters from a language he doesn’t know on the aforementioned squares. Salvestro tears his gaze away from the lightshow for a moment, in order to take in the rest of the room. The Chamber of Souls is smaller than he’d imagined, and not nearly as grand. Like the hallways, everything here is made of metal. Except for the glowing golden sphere hovering above the floor in the centre of the room. Salvestro’s eyebrows curl upwards when he sees a sarcophagus in front of that gold sphere. 

“What is this?” he asks as he waves his hand towards the sarcophagus, curiosity taking reign. 

“The final resting place of The Architect,” Pierrezzo answers as he strides across the room to the wall closest to him. He presses his hand against it, and an invisible panel sinks into the wall just slightly. 

Voices fill the Chamber, but no one in the room is speaking- at least, no one that Salvestro can see. 

_“Father- !!”_

_“This is your_ last _chance, dear brother-”_

_“- I want to_ change _it.”_

_“- if I want you to_ die _, you_ die!”

“You are hearing the voices of the Precursors,” Caterina tells Salvestro upon seeing the hunter’s bewildered expression. “This is the place where their souls now reside.”

“Incredible,” Salvestro murmurs, staring at the streams of light again in awe, his ears soaking in the voices of the past. 

“The Architect was a Precursor himself as well- but you already knew that,” Pierrezzo adds, drawing the future _Custode’_ s attention to him. “Are you ready? To begin the ritual, and to meet him?”

Salvestro nods without hesitation, a wide smile tugging at his lips. 

“I am.”


	3. Risurrezione, Part II

Domenico removes the leather bag they have strung around their shoulders and, crouching down, sets it on the floor in front of the coffin. They then sit down cross-legged, as do the other two Elders, and then Salvestro follows suit when Pierrezzo gives him a small nod.

Domenico flips open the top of the bag and reaches inside. They pull out a series of tiny glass-like vials filled with different coloured powders, and set them carefully on the floor between them and Salvestro. They reach into the bag again and remove from it a small flask filled with water, and then set it on the floor next to the vials. Next comes a strange-looking, bulky thing made of metal, with a thin hose and nozzle attached to it. Then a rod that’s also constructed from metal, with a circular disk at the end of it that has the symbol of the _Custode-_ the end of an arrow shaft with feathers- engraved into it. _The Staff of Light,_ he remembers. Next a small bowl and spoon, and then- the last item- a small, rectangular sheet of metal with letters on it.

Salvestro watches as Pierrezzo opens the vials, one by one, and pours their contents into the small bowl in front of him. The Elder next retrieves the spoon and the flask. He pours some water into the spoon, which he then dips into the bowl and starts stirring the stuff inside, swiftly, but also carefully, to avoid spilling. Once the mixture is nearly completely smooth, Pierrezzo dips his fingers into the paste and then pulls out his stained fingers. He reaches forward and starts swiping the paste across Salvestro’s face with quick, calculated motions.

Meanwhile, Domenico and Caterina are using the strange bulky thing with the nozzle to engulf the disk-end of the Staff of Light in flames, for the branding part of the ritual. Salvestro watches in intense curiosity, wondering how that nozzle is able to produce fire. He wants to ask, but the time for questions has already undoubtedly passed and gone. Besides, it’s not _that_ important- he just wants to sate his own curiosity, that’s all.

Pierrezzo pulls his hand back, evidently finished painting Salvestro’s face. 

Domenico shuffles forward a bit, the Staff in hand, its disk now a bright orange-ish red. Salvestro swallows hard and bites down on his lower lip as the Elder takes the hunter’s hand into their own, and turns it over so the palm is facing up.

It’s not long before a pained scream tears through the room.

~~~~

_1506~ Monte Ceceri, outside of Firenze…_

_The birds chirp happily, singing their songs, fluttering from branch to branch now and then to find a good-sized bug to eat. The wind rustles the leaves of the trees, and chills the two men standing side by side before the great monstrosity sitting atop the hill. It was a thing constructed from pine rods bound together by raw silk, with wings that spanned well over thirty feet, and sturdy pine handlebars for both the hands and the feet. Leonardo’s arms are crossed, his fingers running through his beard as he gazes anxiously at the machine he and Tommaso had built together. He turns his head to look at the man beside him, who looks back at him with something akin to amusement._

_“Are you absolutely certain you want to try to fly it?” Leonardo asks, uncertain of himself, uncertain of what they’re about to do. “We can find someone el-”_

_“Maestro, I don’t know whether I should be flattered by your concern, or offended by your lack of faith in me.”_

_Leonardo puts his hand on Tommaso’s shoulder and squeezes it gently. “It’s not that I lack faith in you. I simply do not wish to see you hurt because of my machine.”_

And, in turn, because of _me._

_“Ah, so it is faith in your own_ invention _that you lack.” Tommaso’s eyebrow curls upward, and that damned smile of his widens. “I trust you with my life, Leo. That means I trust your work as well. Do not be so hard on yourself. I will be fine. Alright?”_

_“I just-” Leonardo sighs, breaking eye contact with Tommaso. He squeezes the other man’s shoulder again. “You are quite old,_ caro mio-”

_“Not as old as you,” Tommaso points out, his smile growing wider. Leonardo can’t keep his own amused grin from tugging at his lips for long._

_“True. But nonetheless… I fear that if something-_ anything- _goes wrong, that you will be severely injured. And that your injuries would be too severe for me to handle.”_

_“Leonardo.” Tommaso reaches a hand up and settles it atop the one resting on his shoulder. “You are worrying far too much. It is not good for your hair- I mean_ look _at it, it’s already grey.”_

_“But-”_

_Tommaso leans in and presses his lips to Leonardo’s, effectively shutting the other man up. When he pulls back, he says, “As I said. It’s not good for your hair.”_

_“You will be the death of me one day, I swear,” Leonardo mutters, earning a small laugh from his partner._

_“Just not today,_ amore mio.”

~~~~

_“Restoration of Subject-Sigma-4206A-# 00045 one hundred percent complete.”_

Salvestro’s brows furrow as he gazes down at the sarcophagus in which The Architect had been laid to rest long ago. “When he awakens… will he already be aware of the purpose of his resurrection?” the hunter asks, listening as the lid of the sarcophagus clicks and gas seeps out from underneath the seam. 

“We do not know,” Caterina answers. “This is the first time a Precursor has been resurrected. Regardless, your objective remains the same.”

Salvestro nods, watching as the lid of the sarcophagus rises. He steps closer, heart jittering. He wants to see The Architect’s face, to see with his own eyes the Precursor who he must travel to the Lost Regions with. The Precursor who he must protect at all costs, for the sake of the world, and those he cares about.

The Precursor whose destiny he is now intertwined with, for better or for worse.

Salvestro is surprised to find that inside the sarcophagus, there lies only an ordinary-looking man. The hunter had been fully aware that the Precursors probably did not look like anything he’d imagined, but still… 

He’s not disappointed or anything. Just… _surprised_. 

The Architect’s auburn hair is a bit long, and reaches just below his shoulders. His beard isn’t nearly as long- if anything, it looks as if it’s just started to grow. He looks so… young. And yet, at the same time, so old- Salvestro can see the lines from stress creasing The Architect’s features, despite the fact that he is clearly still asleep. As for his body, it’s covered from his neck to his ankles in a silvery, silky gown.

“Why is he not waking up?” Salvestro asks the Elders, not taking his eyes off the man for even a second. 

“It is because his soul has been pulled back into his body, and is no longer free like the rest of the Precursors,” Caterina explains. “The transition from the spiritual plane back to that of the physical has taken a toll on him. Do not worry, my child. He will awaken soon, before you must begin your journey together. For now, we should take him to your residence.”

Salvestro nods, and steps closer to the coffin, reaching for the sleeping Architect and then halting, suddenly very uncertain of himself. What if The Architect wakes up while he’s carrying him? What if The Architect doesn’t like the idea of a lowly Descendant- even if he’s the _Custode-_ touching him? The hunter shakes his head, dispelling these thoughts immediately. 

The Architect will understand, surely. Besides, how else are they supposed to move him?

He carefully slides one arm underneath The Architect’s neck, and the other underneath his knees. He then lifts the man up, slowly and carefully so as to avoid possibly injuring him. Salvestro can feel the Elders’ eyes on him, and discomfort swells in his stomach and limbs. He turns his head to look at Pierrezzo questioningly. The Elder gives an affirmative nod, and the hunter relaxes. 

But only by a little.

Time seems to blur, thoughts, images, and sounds becoming indistinct as he follows the Elders through the catacomb halls. Before he’s even aware of it, Salvestro is back in his own home (he’d moved out of that of his family’s a few years ago), carefully settling The Architect on his bed upstairs. Once the man is hopefully comfortable on the mattress, and not at risk of falling off or something, the hunter makes his way back downstairs, to the sitting room, where the Elders are standing there waiting.

“When The Architect awakens,” Domenico tells Salvestro, “bring him to us immediately. We will want to speak with him before you begin your journey to the Lost Regions.”

Salvestro nods in reply. “In the meantime, I’ll start packing supplies for us to take with us.” 

“Good. _A presto_ , my child.”

~~~~

_Sticky._

His mouth feels sticky, his lips dry, and… why doesn’t he feel any more ache in his bones? Why does his body no longer feel weary? And how is it that he can feel the right side of his body again? _That_ should not be possible- this _shouldn’t_ be possible- this isn’t _possible_ -

His eyelids, which are also a bit sticky, slide open. The light seeping into the room from the nearby window hurts his eyes, and he’s forced to close them again. He can feel the slight give of a mattress underneath his body, and the weight of a heavy blanket on top of him. 

Turning over, he starts pushing the blanket off his body, and then pauses, opening his eyes and blinking erratically as he rubs the blanket between his fingers. Fur. This blanket is made from some sort of furry hide. 

He shoves the blanket off completely, and pushes himself into a sitting position, body tensing. His eyes flick about, quickly taking in his surroundings. He’s definitely _not_ in his own quarters anymore, that much is for certain. Unlike his quarters, this room is relatively sparse. There’s just the bed he’s sitting on, a cabinet with a mirror to his left, some piles of armour and hides on the floor also to his left, and a closed door to his right. And there is also the open window, which is in front of the bed, about ten feet away.

He shuffles to the edge of the bed and slides off, almost yelping at the cold chill the floor is delivering to his bare feet. 

He instantly loathes this gown he’s wearing, and he silently vows to give whoever shoved it onto him a piece of his mind. Just as he takes a step towards the closed door, hand already rising to reach for the handle, it swings open. On the other side stands a young man- he can’t be more than twenty- in heavy hides partially covered by armour. His dark hair hangs loose around his face, barely touching his shoulders. And his eyes…

This man’s eyes remind him far too much of Tommaso. 

“Architect,” the man breathes, staring at him in… disbelief? “You are awake.”

“Awake, indeed,” Leonardo hisses, standing his ground and tilting his chin up almost defiantly. “Awake, and wondering what in the _hell_ is going on here.”


	4. Seconda Vita

“So, let us make certain that I’m understanding the situation correctly. You are what the people of this village call a _Custode…_ and you are tasked with taking _me_ to a temple in some place called ‘The Lost Regions’ to stop a series of catastrophes supposedly connected to something called ‘The Alignment,’ which- if not stopped in time- will destroy the world.”

“That is the situation, yes,” the younger man, who had introduced himself as Salvestro da Aventine, replies as he rummages through the downstairs closet, shoving aside piles of garments and whatnot. Leonardo watches with a raised eyebrow, hands on his hips, wondering if his host ever bothered to fold his own clothes or not.

At the moment, the answer is far from important.

“This is nightmare,” Leonardo whispers. “A _fottuto_ nightmare…” He lifts up a hand and pinches his own arm. _“Merda…”_

Salvestro gives no indication that he heard the painter’s mutterings, and instead holds several pieces of clothing out towards the inventor, a questioning look settling across his features as he asks, “Are these garments suitable for you, Architect?”

Leonardo nods in reply, cringing internally at the title by which he had just been addressed by. “Yes, these will do me quite nicely- and _per favore, per l'amor di Dio-_ call me by my _name.”_

“My apologies, Archi- err, _Leonardo,”_ Salvestro murmurs, and Leonardo’s earlier irritation washes away. He reaches for the clothes and before securing his grasp on them, he gives one of the hunter’s hands a gentle pat of reassurance.

The only thing this does is earn him a strange look from Salvestro.

Leonardo clears his throat awkwardly, and focuses his gaze on the garments as he pulls them out of the hunter’s hands. “I will go back upstairs, to put these on. I should only be a few minutes…” He briefly entertains the thought of trying to escape through the open bedroom window while he’s upstairs, but then that means running the risk of being caught, and possibly suffering punishment. And he would rather _not_ learn about said punishments first-hand, thank you very much.

He’ll just have to play along, for now.

Unfortunately, this means having to put up with Salvestro’s practical _worship_ of him for a little while longer. It’s not that Leonardo doesn’t like him, but the fact that the man is treating him like he is a _god_ … it makes the inventor feel incredibly uncomfortable.

That is putting it _lightly._

As Leonardo promised, it doesn’t take him long to get changed into the clothes his host has provided to him- already he feels much better, to be wearing something that actually fits his body. Mostly. It’s a little loose, since it had been made for Salvestro and not him, but it’s a lot better than that blasted gown he had woken up in this… is it morning? Leonardo doesn’t know.

There is a lot he doesn’t know, and that terrifies him to no end.

He is not a fan of how dark the garments’ colours are, but he decides it’s best not to complain. The inventor secures the last buckle on his boot, and gives it a small tug. It holds, and so he straightens his stance, taking in his host’s bedroom one last time. It’s… a tad bit sad, how empty it is. How empty it _feels_. It seems as if no one truly _lives_ here, that even Salvestro seems to be a guest in his own home as well.

Leonardo shakes his head, and approaches the lone mirror sitting on the cabinet shoved against the bedroom wall. He stares at his reflection uncomprehendingly, and lifts a hand, letting his fingers brush the de-aged flesh of his face. It’s… very unsettling, to see himself so young again. He doesn’t like it. He also doesn’t like how short his beard is now, but that he can easily fix by simply letting it grow out again.

_That is, of course, assuming I even live that long,_ he thinks grimly. Leonardo turns away from the mirror and starts heading for the door, his boots _clunking_ against the wooden floor-boards.

If he’s going to survive whatever _this_ is, he needs _answers_.

~~~~

The village of Aventine seems to be more like a very small city, Leonardo thinks as Salvestro slowly but steadily leads him down the streets. Regardless, it is rather beautiful. It reminds him a little bit of Firenze, and yet, it has its own charm as well. And yet, he can’t help but sense that there’s also an air of… _unease_.

Perhaps it’s just his own nearly overwhelming anxiety he’s feeling.

The sun is still charting its path, hanging just above the horizon now- bathing Aventine in a dim golden glow. Despite how very early it is in the day, people are already starting to crowd the cobblestone road.

It’s a strange thing. Just yesterday- at least, it feels like yesterday to Leonardo- he was bedridden, barely able to move his left side and completely unable to move his right. He could barely even _speak_. He had been close to the end, that much was certain. When his eyes slid shut one last time…

There was nothing. No afterlife. No heaven or hell. There was literally _nothing_.

The next thing he knew, he was in someone else’s bed, in a _fottuto_ gown, having full use of his body- which is now several _decades_ younger than it had been when…

Leonardo doesn’t quite understand how he’d been brought back to life. Salvestro’s explanation offered nothing in the way of answers- if anything, it had only brought more questions.

“Do you know how much time has passed?” the painter queries, still hoping for some semblance of a _real_ answer to _something_. “Between my… death, and my resurrection?”

Salvestro shakes his head. “No. The Last Daughter never told us.”

“‘The Last Daughter?’” Leonardo repeats, loathing how _lost_ he feels from all of this. If anything is likely to get him killed in this… _second life,_ it’s his severe lack of knowledge in regards to this new environment he’s been unwillingly thrust into. He knows nothing about these people- their societal and religious beliefs, their government structure, etcetera. That fact is, needless to say, a terrifying thought. If he asks too many questions, Salvestro and the Elders may begin to question his identity- and in turn, they may kill him if they believe he is an imposter. If he has no knowledge of these people, however, and acts in a manner that they find unacceptable in accordance with their customs, they will- again- believe him to be an imposter, and likely kill him then as well.

Either way, the situation is _very_ far from ideal.

“Trinitas,” Salvestro replies, regarding Leonardo with a clearly puzzled expression. “She was the Last Daughter of the Precursors, and the only one whose soul remained untainted. She was the one who awakened my ancestors from their eternal sleep. She was the one who provided us with the knowledge we needed to survive and rebuild. And the knowledge of what we must do when the next Alignment is near.”

Well. That answers… very little, and also brings more questions, though they remain unspoken at the moment, as the younger man then asks, “How is it possible that you do not know of these things?”

Leonardo releases a soft, tired sigh as he and Salvestro step into a deserted stone courtyard. To their left, there is a dry fountain. Skittering and hopping across the ground are small, colourful pigeons that whirl around and fly away as the only two humans in the immediate vicinity stride towards the impressive tower stretching up to the sky, washing the courtyard in shadow.

“I come from a different time,” the inventor finally says, forcing his own voice to remain steady, “and a different place. This world… it is very different from the one which I have always known. I… do not know whether or not you’d believe me if I were to explain.”

“Try me.” It’s Leonardo’s turn to offer Salvestro a confused look, earning a small laugh of amusement from the other man. “What I mean is you’re welcome to try to explain it to me.”

“Perhaps later,” Leonardo murmurs as they stop before the twin wooden doors barricading the tower entrance. “I would rather not test the Elders’ patience more than is necessary…”

~~~~

Salvestro was not allowed in the High Council Room with The Architect- err, _Leonardo_ , he mentally corrects himself. So he’s forced to sit on a marble bench in the hallway outside, and simply wait. While he’s well aware he’s packed everything he and Leonardo will need for the journey in his travel pack, he flips the top open and shuffles through the contents with his hand anyway.

Triple-checking never hurt anyone.

_Hmm, dried fruits… dried herbs… bread… dried meat… spare throwing knives… medicinal herbs… bandages… more spare throwing knives… changes of clothes… flint…_

He is aware that they’ll have to occasionally stop at other villages and towns along the way to restock on supplies- there’s no way this will be enough to get them all the way to the Lost Regions.

Salvestro whips his head up as one of the giant double doors of the High Council Room creaks open a crack. Out slips Leonardo, a puzzled- and yet at the same time _excited?_ \- look spread all across his features. In one of his hands he clutches a familiar small stone cube, one with little bumps and methodic gaps in it.

_The Heart of the Last Precursor,_ Salvestro realises.

“Look at this!” Leonardo practically shoves the Heart in the hunter’s face in his enthusiasm. “Isn’t it amazing? There are no runes on it to guide you as you rotate the pieces, and no clues as to how to solve it- leaving _thousands_ of unknown possible combinations. Of course, there has to be _some_ way of solving it, otherwise the Elders would not have given it to me _to_ solve. Perhaps if I add individual markings to each of the… or…” His voice lowers into soft mutterings as he pulls the Heart away from Salvestro’s face, and scrutinises the ancient artifact as he carefully turns it over in his hands.

“Did the Elders tell you or give you anything else?” Salvestro asks, closing his travel pack and then pushing himself up onto his feet.

“Hmm? Oh, _sì!_ The Elders simply said that this- the ‘Heart of the Last Precursor,’ I believe is what they called it- is the Key to Trinitas’ Pedestal. She is the one you spoke of earlier. The ‘Last Daughter?’ It really is quite _fascinating.”_ Leonardo ends his words somewhat abruptly, as if he had intended to say more, but decided not to.

“Leonardo?”

It feels _wrong_ to Salvestro, to be calling the Architect by his pre-death name, rather than the title that had been bestowed upon him by later Precursors. But it had been Leonardo’s wish to be called by his name, and by default, his desire is command.

He tries not to think about that moment right after, when Leonardo’s hand- just how much of the many meanings behind nonverbal forms of communication between the Aventine people is the man completely unaware of??

“Salvestro?” Their eyes meet, and he sees Leonardo’s eyes are crinkled slightly in concern. “You wanted to ask me something?”

Salvestro shakes his head no. It’s probably better if he does not think about this now. They have more important and pressing matters to attend to, and he will make certain to thoroughly educate his companion on all that is necessary to carry out their mission.

“We should leave now,” the hunter replies. “We have a long journey ahead of us…”


	5. Semita

_Eleven years ago: 2678, Aventine Calendar~ Piazza della Christina…_

_A dark-haired child clothed in garments a little too loose on his body peers around the shadowed street corner, violet eyes wide with fascination- and, perhaps, a hint of fear- as he watches the scene unfolding before him. His fingers dig into the stone and mortar wall as he tenses with each passing second. The crowd that’s congregating the massive stone platform in the middle of the Piazza is cheering at an uncharacteristically loud volume, all of them hurling vicious words and crying out for death. He can see that the woman dressed in a blue gown, standing on the centre of the platform, is his aunt. He wants to call out to her, to ask what’s happening, but before he can do anything, the man in black robes standing beside her holding a scroll- one of the older Elders, Vannozzo, he realises- speaks._

_“Helena da Nezia. You have been charged with the gravest possible crime against the people of Aventine-_ heresy. _According to the evidence with which I have been provided, you were initiated into the Cult of Morta-”_

 _“We are_ not _a_ cult-!”

“- willingly _, five years ago now, and were involved in_ many _related crimes against the people afterwards. Since there is no evidence to the contrary, and you do not deny your affiliation with the cult… you are sentenced to_ death.” _Vannozzo, as he speaks, motions for a person clad in a heavy, bronze-like armour armed with a crossbow to step onto the platform._

 _“You will_ not _get away with_ this! _The people will learn the_ truth _, the others will see to that_ \- aracck!” _Blood sprays from her neck as soon as the arrow strikes, and she’s dead long before her body hits the platform._

 _The child gasps, and covers his mouth, unable to hold back the tears threatening to spill from his eyes. His aunt… they just…_ killed _her. Why? That is the question that is burning in his mind as another person, this time a man, also wearing a blue gown, is forcibly shoved onto the platform._

_“Simone da Asisium. You have been charged with the gravest pos-”_

_“Liar!” Simone screams at Vannozzo, his eyes wild with anger and hate. “Just like the rest of them,_ un fottuto bugiardo-!!” _He turns his gaze onto the crowd surrounding the platform, the look in his eyes morphing into a sort of desperation. It’s in vain, just as his unfinished words. “- why can none of you see it, why do you all still remain_ blind _to the-_ garrracck!”

_Like Helena, he’s dead before his body crumples onto the stone platform._

_“Salvestro!” a voice hisses from behind._

_The child lingering in the dark corner of the street whips around, and he sees his older brother standing there behind him, clearly both very cross and deeply concerned._

_“Aunt Helena,” Salvestro mumbles, hiccupping, reaching out and tangling his fingers in his brother’s shirt. He can feel his own body starting to go slack with weakness, helplessness, and the tears start to stream down his cheeks a little faster. “Why,_ _Niccolò? Why did she have to die??”_

_He doesn’t struggle or protest when his older brother scoops him up into his arms. He hears Niccolò release something akin to a tired sigh. Salvestro senses that there’s more buried there, more to it that he can hear, but he’s too upset and too afraid to think too hard on it at the moment._

_“Because she… she made a choice,” Niccolò replies vaguely as he starts walking. Salvestro can hear the cries and cheering in the Piazza slowly dying down, and he realises that his brother must be taking him back home._

_“What do you mean, ‘she made a choice?’”_

_Niccolò sighs again. “We should not be having_ this _conversation_ here, _and especially not_ now _… I’d rather neither of us suffer the same fate as…” His words trail off. “Why were you even_ there _in the first place?? You should have been in bed.”_

_Salvestro doesn’t answer._

~~~~

Leonardo can see it as they cross the nearly deserted village square. The way Salvestro’s body tenses when they pass by the stone platform at its centre. The way the younger man’s stride seems to quicken. He wants to ask why, but the words die in his throat as he stares, not at the stone itself, but rather the dried brown splatterings decorating it.

And he knows not to ask.

It’s not long before they reach the village gates- twenty minutes, at most. Leonardo watches as the giant metal doors slowly swing open, and his eyes flick to the stone towering stone walls that hold the gates. This alone again reminds him of Firenze. _Firenze…_ He both loved and hated that city. Most of his memories of it were wonderful and precious. As for the rest… there are some things he’d like to forget.

Leonardo follows Salvestro down the beaten path ahead, which quickly leads to small wooden building with a long overhang on its side, and underneath the overhang are-

 _Horses_.

It’s not that he doesn’t _like_ horses. If anything, he finds them to be very beautiful creatures indeed. However, that beauty is also matched by their unpredictability- and that unpredictability alone, more often than not, is what resulted in the city gifting him with corpses to examine at his leisure that had either been kicked just a _little_ too hard in the ribs, or violently trampled on after falling off their own horse because they had too much to drink at the time. That, and very rarely having interacted with horses himself have given him a reasonable sense of caution around the animals. As a result, he never learned how to ride one.

Hence why when he sees Salvestro open one of the pens and gently take hold of one of the horses’ bridles to lead it out, Leonardo protests.

“Salvestro. I do not know how to ride.”

Their eyes meet, and the younger man’s eyebrow curls upward as he replies, “What do you mean, you ‘do not know how to ride?’” As he asks this, Salvestro easily hoists himself up onto the horse’s back. The equine releases a soft neigh and shakes its head, but otherwise shows no reaction.

“By that I mean exactly what I said,” Leonardo explains, some degree of annoyance seeping into his voice. “I don’t know how to ride, and in all honesty, I would prefer to keep it that way.”

“The fastest way for us to travel is by horse. We will _never_ reach the Lost Regions in time if we try to make the entire journey _on foot.”_ Salvestro reaches his hand out to the painter. Leonardo notes that the palm seems to have had a symbol branded into it very recently, and the burn is still fresh enough to where the flesh can easily be damaged if too much strain is put on it. “I promise, Nezetta will not harm you. She is a loyal steed- my personal favourite, in fact.” The inventor stiffens, and forces himself to stand his ground as the ebony horse turns her head and gently nudges him in the chest with her snout, inhaling sharply. “See? She likes you already.”

“If you say so,” Leonardo mutters, trying to filter as much of his skepticism from his voice as possible. Nezetta, evidently satisfied with her single sniff of the artist, turns her head away and simply stands there, waiting patiently. Salvestro continues to hold his hand out, also waiting.

Also patient.

Leonardo bites his lower lip, thinking to himself, _I am going to regret this, most certainly,_ before flinging his arm up and wrapping his fingers around Salvestro’s wrist. The younger man pulls him up with a grunt, and within seconds, Leonardo is sitting on the horse’s back, his own back pressing up against the other male’s chest.

“What if someone _sees?”_ Leonardo asks, his voice no higher than a whisper as Salvestro takes ahold of the reins- which means that the latter’s arms are wrapped around the former, so to speak.

“What do you mean?”

Nezetta starts trotting down the path, slowly but steadily increasing her speed.

“What if someone sees us like _this?”_ Leonardo gestures to himself and then Salvestro as he speaks. “What… what will they think??”

Salvestro’s features are scrunched in confusion. “I don’t get it… are you embarrassed by the fact that you do not know how to ride a horse?”

“Never mind,” Leonardo mumbles. “It’s… not important.”

“Look at it this way,” Salvestro replies, still clearly unaware of the true reasoning behind the inventor’s earlier queries. “By sharing a horse, we will have one less mouth to feed.”

Leonardo can’t help but laugh.

~~~~

Leonardo _very_ slowly relaxes as he and Salvestro ride down the trail (so far, neither of them have been bucked off and trampled to death, so he’s happy about that), and starts to really pay attention to their surroundings. The forest is full of life- trees with green leaves everywhere the eye can see, and familiar animals such as squirrels and grouses. The plants rustle softly from a cool breeze, and birds chirp their beautiful ballads. The two men hold an ever-changing conversation as Nezetta carries them through the forest.

When the inventor asks Salvestro to tell him about himself, he is absolutely horrified to learn that the younger man is a hunter. “Why?” Leonardo asks, his tongue nearly failing him. His whole body feels numb, and all he can feel is this sinking sensation in his stomach. _Disappointment_. That’s what he feels. Disappointment. Disappointment in humanity, disappointment in his companion, and disappointment in himself for thinking that _maybe_ the world really had changed.

He bitterly wonders what else is still the _same_ as it had been during his “first life.”

“Why what?” Salvestro asks. Leonardo can feel the hunter’s chest vibrate against his back with every word spoken, and it only serves to heighten that sinking feeling.

“Why do you choose to commit such a despicable act? To kill an animal for no purpose other than to feed on its flesh and to clothe yourself in its skin??” Leonardo’s voice trembles with each word, despite how hard he struggles to keep it steady. There is just too much he’s feeling right now, _too much_. “I suppose if you had killed in _self-defense,_ perhaps I could understand that, but for any other reason… it is completely _unnecessary.”_

Salvestro hums softly, and replies, “You remind me of my aunt.”

“…” That isn’t exactly how Leonardo expected the other man to respond.

He had expected him to disagree.

To argue.

“She… she felt the same way as you do.”

_“‘Felt?’”_

Salvestro doesn’t answer right away. The hunter swallows hard and loud, and after a full ten seconds, he finally says, “She is dead.” In a lower voice, he adds, “Executed for crimes against my people…”

 _“Mi dispiace-_ I-” Leonardo cuts himself off, deciding perhaps it’s best if he drops the subject for the time being. It’s clear that neither of them are in a pleasant mood anymore, and to continue this discussion right now would undoubtedly result in an argument.

Something that he would much rather avoid, if at all possible.

“You have nothing to apologise for,” Salvestro tells him. “She made her choice. I have no doubts that she was well aware of the consequences of her actions.”

Leonardo’s lips crease into a frown. He wants to know, but at the same time, he doesn’t want to. _Duality- one of the few consistent attributes of the human race._ Along with bigotry, lust for war…

In the time between his death and his resurrection…

The world doesn’t seem to have changed at all for the better.


End file.
